The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's. ~Mark Twain,
letter to W.D. Howells, 2 April 1899

I talk to him when I'm lonesome like; and I'm sure he understands. When he
looks at me so attentively, and gently licks my hands; then he rubs his nose on
my tailored clothes, but I never say naught thereat. For the good Lord knows I
can buy more clothes, but never a friend like that. ~W. Dayton Wedgefarth

Dougal 2003-2016

If it be the chief point of friendship to comply with a friend's notions and
inclinations he possesses this in an eminent degree; he lies down when I sit,
and walks when I walk, which is more than many good friends can pretend to do....Alexander
Pope

Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our life whole....Roger Caras

Bramble 1995-2005

Tinker 1995-2006

You were always there when I needed you. Devoted, loving and true.
No one could have wished for a friend more dearer than you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without
vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the
virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning
flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory
of Boatswain, a Dog. ~George Gordon, Lord Byron, "Inscription on the
Monument of a Newfoundland Dog"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil
or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious
afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was
peace." - Milan Kundera

Kipper
1985-1995

Frodo

1984-1996

You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be
there long before any of us...Robert Louis Stevenson

Ziggy 1980- 1993

Grieve not,
nor think of me with tears
But laugh and talk to me as if I were beside you.
I loved you so . . .
'Twas Heaven here with you -- Isla Paschal Richardson

If a Dog Be Well Remembered

by Ben Hur Lampman

from the 1925 Portland Oregonian

We are thinking now of a dog, whose coat was flame in the
sunshine and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or
unworthy thought. This dog is buried beneath a cherry tree, under
four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews
petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree or an
apple or any flowering shrub of the garden is an excellent place to bury a
good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer
or gnawed at a flavorous bone or lifted head to challenge some strange
intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small
matter.

For if the dog be well-remembered, if sometimes he leaps through
your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, laughing, begging, it
matters not at all where the dog sleeps. On a hill where the wind is
unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in
puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pastureland, where most
exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog and all one to you,
and nothing is gained and nothing is lost -- if memory lives.

But there is one best place to bury a dog. If you bury him in
this spot, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim,
dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your
side again.

And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they shall not
growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he belongs there. People may
scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who
hear no whimper, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at
them, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is
well worth knowing.

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of
his master.

Beau by Jimmy Stewart

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn't come at all.

When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.

Discipline was not his bag
But when you were with him things sure didn't drag.
He'd dig up a rosebush just to spite me,
And when I'd grab him, he'd turn and bite me.

He bit lots of folks from day to day,
The delivery boy was his favorite prey.
The gas man wouldn't read our meter,
He said we owned a real man-eater.

He set the house on fire
But the story's long to tell.
Suffice it to say that he survived
And the house survived as well.

On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.

He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.

We are early-to-bedders at our house--
I guess I'm the first to retire.
And as I'd leave the room he'd look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.

He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I'd give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I'd fish it out with a smile.

And before very long
He'd tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.

And there were nights when I'd feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I'd pat his head.

And there were nights when I'd feel this stare
And I'd wake up and he'd be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.
And sometimes I'd feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.

He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he'd be glad to have me near.

And now he's dead.
And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.

And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he's not there.

Oh, how I wish that wasn't so,
I'll always love a dog named Beau.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow
Bridge When an animal dies that has been especially
close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows
and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play
together. There is plenty of food and water and sunshine, and our friends
are warm and comfortable. All the animals who had been ill and old are
restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole
and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times
gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing: they miss
someone very special to them; who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops
and looks into the distance. The bright eyes are intent; the eager body
quivers. Suddenly, he begins to break away from the group, flying over the
green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. YOU have been
spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling
together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses
rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you
look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your
life but never absent from your heart. Then you cross the rainbow
bridge together.

When God Made the Earth and Sky

When God made the Earth and sky,

The flowers and the trees,
He then made all the animals,
And all the birds and bees.

And when his work was finished,
Not one was quite the same,
He said, "Iíll walk this earth of mine,
And give each one a name."

And so he traveled land and sea
And everywhere he went,
A little creature followed him,
Until its strength was spent.

When
all were named upon the earth,
And in the sky and sea,
The little creature said, "Dear Lord,
Thereís not one left for me."

The Father sniffed and softly said,
"Iíve left you Ďtil the end.
Iíve turned my own name back to front,
And called you Dog, my friend!"